


Frim Fram Friendship

by daroos



Series: Meet you at the Stork Room [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Balboa - Freeform, Clint sucks at life, Dancing!Phil, Darcy curses a lot, Gen, Phil has hobbies, Swing Dancing, administrative bros, personal boundaries, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroos/pseuds/daroos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Darcy share a special connection outside of work hours. Steve is jealous, Clint is a troublemaker, and friendship takes a bit of work from all sides. The next story in the Dancing!Phil saga!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frim Fram Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the end for all the songs mentioned in this fic.
> 
> Check out [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6cvX3lAW7Y) for some contemporary jazz music, some great choreographed balboa, and an ending I GUARANTEE you will love.
> 
> Some awesome non-choreographed demo: [with Mickey and Kelly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NjWQgLsyggI)
> 
> and a bonus [adorable choreographed performance](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lflb7HKOT60)

Phil’s peace offering was a new iPod with bigger memory, more everything, and fully preloaded with music. He’d gotten the catalogue of music that had been on her previous device, and added on as much Glen Miller, Artie Shaw, Django Reinhart, and Lewis Armstrong as he thought she could handle, along with an eclectic selection of contemporary New Orleans jazz from some of his favorite small bands.

He stood in the foyer of Stark Tower, now being remodeled into Avengers Tower, and allowed himself to feel a bit anxious. He had not exactly been invited, and he and Darcy had not parted on terms anywhere like friendship. The security desk had called up to the Foster Lab, and out of respect for JARVIS and a budding truce they had developed, he waited.

The door leading to the stairs burst open, and Steve Rogers jogged out, stopping to glance around the foyer and generally look like the majestic US Army recruitment poster he was. It was as though every stupid fantasy of Phil’s boyhood had popped out of the emergency exit and posed in the act of being Heroic and American. Phil sighed, realizing he was going to make a fool of himself in front of Captain America when Darcy finally arrived.

“Agent Coulson,” Rogers greeted, holding out a hand. Phil shook it. Things had been just as awkward after returning from the dead as they had been before, but Rogers seemed to make an effort not to notice. All things considered it was quite kind. “Are you...” Rogers began, a slight frown wrinkling his otherwise perfect forehead. “Is this business?” he asked finally.

“No,” Phil said, rocking on his heels just a bit and putting on his bland, ‘nothing to see here’ smile. “I’m just dropping off something for a friends.” He held up the iPod, charger and docking cable wrapped and attached together with a neat bow of ribbon.

Rogers looked troubled. “Miss Lewis?” he asked hesitantly as though he was very much hoping the answer was no.

Phil’s eyebrows went up. “Yes, actually.”

“I was hanging around the labs and she sent me down when they called up,” Rogers explained quickly. “The elevators are out temporarily and she said I’d probably enjoy the exercise.”

“Oh.” Phil’s eyebrows drew down and together and then his expression cleared. “I’d hoped to speak with her, but with the elevators out...” Phil sighed. His stamina still wasn’t where he’d like it, and climbing fifty flights of stairs was not an option for him. “Could you give this to her, then? Let her know I’m sorry about what I did with hers and I believe I loaded everything on properly. I added some of my favorites, as well.” Phil offered the wrapped iPod to Steve, who took it gingerly.

Rogers was looking at him dubiously, but took the peace offering and gave a decisive nod, as though committing Phil’s statements to memory. “Of course. Is that... all?” Rogers asked.

“That should do it.” Phil rapped his knuckle against the security desk in a decisive motion. “That’s it. Have a pleasant afternoon, Captain.”

“And you, Agent.”  
\--  
Steve held out the small bundle to Darcy like it might be a bomb. The blue silken ribbon was perfectly tied and held tight even as she fumbled it. “Agent Coulson said he was sorry about what he did with yours and he thought he loaded it properly.” Steve’s tone clearly added _whatever that means_. “Also he added some of his favorites.”

Darcy tore at the ribbon, spilling the cords onto her desk over a pile of notes. “Phil!” she squealed to herself in pleasure. “ _Tunes_ ,” she added in a reverent undertone.

“It’s... good?” Steve hazarded.

Darcy flicked her thumb over the scroll wheel and giggled to herself. “Oh my god it’s a Djangopallooza,” she replied, probably still talking to herself. “The New Orleans Moonshiners? Score! I didn’t know they had a sessions album.”

Steve realized she probably wasn’t going to notice him lurking, trying to figure out exactly why Agent Coulson was giving Darcy gifts. Because it wasn’t like it wasn’t a guy’s right to give any lady he felt like a gift, if she would accept it. It was just that this was all kind of unexpected, and Darcy seemed _really pleased_ with her gift, which he had finally identified as a music device. “I’m glad I could be a help,” he told Darcy who wasn’t paying him attention, and ducked out of the lab.

“Hey, thanks for—” Darcy looked up some time later and realized Steve was long gone. “Oh.”  
\--  
“He’s actually quite decent for a jackbooted thug. He wears a suit,” Dr. Selvig commented.

Steve had obviously walked into the middle of a conversation in progress. He had brought coffee, though, so nobody seemed inclined to kick him out of the labs. Dr. Foster gave Selvig a dubious look. “I dunno. He has that creepy man in black vibe.” She accepted the coffee mug from Steve with a lopsided, tired smile and a murmured ‘thanks’.

“He got me an even-better-than-ever iPod back, he and Stark got you sweet lab space in this swanky ass tower that’s only a little under construction now. And he totally means we never, ever, _ever_ have to talk directly to Director Fury. He’s kittens and puppy dogs and cotton candy in my book,” Darcy stretched and almost punched Steve in the chest with one sweater-covered fist.

“Agent Coulson,” Selvig told Steve when the scientist realized he was staring in confusion.

“Is that for me?” Darcy asked, pointing at one of the two cups still in his hands.

“Uh,” Steve responded. Darcy took that as a yes and lifted the cup from his hand. She downed half the mug of steaming coffee in one long draught.

She made an inarticulate gurgle of pleasure and relief. “If it wouldn’t actually be fulfilling some serious fantasies and totally me taking advantage, I would kiss you,” Darcy said sincerely.

Steve turned bright red. “Uh...” he said again.

Jane threw a pencil at Darcy. “Quit winding him up. You have a paper to finish and I need to see if I can get LaTex to insert runes in equations.”

Selvig gave Steve a congratulatory sort of smirk that Steve correctly interpreted to mean, _I remember when beautiful young women were fantasizing about kissing me_. It only made Steve blush more.

“Well, uh. Do you guys need anything else?” Steve asked. When Thor had requested he keep an eye on his fair Lady Jane and her scientific companions, he hadn’t thought it would be in such a mundane way. They often forgot to eat anything more than toaster pastries, and would go for days on end without outside contact if left undisturbed. He had spent the first few months after the Battle of New York tramping North America, but New York had drawn him back, and he found himself sometimes nanny to a herd of confoundingly intelligent scientists, and Miss Darcy Lewis who was just confounding in general.

Darcy and Selvig had met eyes over the rims of their coffee mugs and were racing to finish their drinks. Selvig hit his mug on the table first with a delighted, “Aha!” and smacked his lips. Darcy almost choked laughing at him.

“I think we’re good,” Dr. Foster told him. “Thanks Steve.”

“My pleasure ma’am.”

He nodded to each of them and left, trying to convince himself that giggles didn’t follow in his wake.  
\--  
Phil resisted, but he was eventually moved into the Tower, along with Natasha and Clint. Stark had not built him special quarters, thinking he was dead, a fact which Phil was moderately grateful for. The apartment he was assigned was nicer than anything he would normally get for himself, but not nearly as ostentatious as he had expected. The entryway and front room were floored in a smooth, well-sealed wood, and thus he cleared the furniture out and mentally designated it a dance room. The rest of his things easily fit in the remaining apartment space anyway. Clint hadn’t quite forgiven him, but Natasha had and was working with Phil on her longtime partner.

The Avengers slowly re-coalesced into a dysfunctional pseudo-family through the combined team building efforts of the inimitable Steve Rogers and a strong tendency in each and every team member towards codependent relationships. Phil managed through all of that, to keep himself out of the coalescence. He liked his life, and he liked having it separate from his babysitting duties. That didn’t stop him from running into Darcy on his night off.

“Miss Lewis,” he greeted her with a hesitant smile.

She returned it tenfold, broad and toothy and with a sardonic, world-wizened edge that made her smile tenfold more meaningful. “Hey Suit,” she returned.

“Given that we’re both not at work, you are permitted to call me Phil,” he replied, cocking his head just slightly.

She mirrored the gesture. “What about Philip? Can I call you that?”

Phil shrugged one shoulder. “Only my mother ever did, but it’s fine with me.”

“Philip,” she said, popping the ‘p’ and smirking at him.

“Why do I feel like I’ve unleashed the beast?” he asked in a deadpan.

She shrugged one shoulder. “So, like, are we gonna be running into each other all the time?”

“I can give you my usual schedule if you’d prefer we not,” he offered. He understood how alluring slipping into an anonymous crowd was; getting to know people without the burden of expectation on their part.

Darcy fiddled with the sash of her dress in a show of mild anxiety. “No, like. I was just gonna see if you wanted to dance.” She glanced up at him shyly from under darkened eyelashes. “I’m not very good, and if _you_ think it’s weird I get it.”

Phil offered his hand. Darcy broke eye contact to run her gaze down his shoulder and arm to the proffered hand. Phil had nice arms, solid and muscled by work and martial arts training and dance. His forearms were roped with muscle, hidden underneath a crisp cotton shirt and the soft wool of his suit jacket. Darcy smiled self-consciously and put her right hand in his left.

He led them out on the dance floor just as the song changed. _Blitzkrieg Baby_ began with a muted trumpet and a slow, chugging rhythm. He opened his right arm, inviting Darcy towards his side, and swayed with her for half a phrase negotiating where they would connect. Due to limited range of motion Phil kept his left arm in close to his body, hands clasped right at the level of Darcy’s heart. He felt solid against her, with the air of supple confidence she only ever got off of dancers.

The shift from simple swaying to actual dancing was almost imperceptible. The song was sedate enough that even to Darcy the weight changes were as clear as if she had been watching Phil’s feet, telegraphed through the mass of his body. She stepped with him, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. He kept it basic for her benefit, doing little more than drops to accent parts of the phrase, or a quick little comearound thrown in so casually she didn’t have time to tense and screw it up. Phil paddle-stepped them across the floor, arm across her back as confident and inexorable as a mountainside. 

She tensed, seeing someone watching them dance. Phil relaxed in the face of her tension and hummed along with the song, soothing Darcy’s worry into nothing. As the last phrase started, they came around and separated, settling into the swish-tap rhythm of lolly kicks, Phil leading into a snazzy little drop and cross-step into a mirrored pose for a subtle but elegant finish. Phil was grinning the secret sort of grin that Darcy suspected not many people ever saw. Darcy returned it as he escorted her to the side of the floor.

“May I give you a word of advice?” Phil asked, a politely quizzical look on his face. It was generally the height of impoliteness to offer unsolicited critique on the social dance floor, but Darcy, curious, nodded assent. “Never give away your weakness before engagements.” He smiled and looked down, making it clear the advice was equal part joke and serious. He squeezed her waist where his arm still rested, and moved to separate.

“Wait,” Darcy said, hand running down the length of his arm as he moved away and tangling in a loose grip with his fingers. “Do you wanna try that again maybe?” She didn’t include any of her hedging statements or preemptive apologies, just a wide-eyed hopeful look.

Phil glanced about the room and back at Darcy. “Certainly.”

 _Stop the sun, stop the moon_ had begun playing, and the melancholy minor key and slow beat seemed to resonate between them, bringing a note of seriousness and sweet innocence which hadn’t been there a moment before. Darcy tucked herself against him and tried to let go.

Phil felt her renewed commitment to giving over control of the dance and of the vibrating tension that characterized her in social situations, and moved them about the floor with steady, sure steps. _Stop the sun_ seemed to say ‘away and together’, and Phil led them through feather-light crossover steps into the swish-tap of lollys. Darcy tried a footwork variation and got her heels tangled. She was about to mutter an angry apology but she glanced up at Phil, keeping the rhythm even as she stopped completely, and he was grinning. She let out a breath and fell back into the beat, picking up where she’d tripped herself.

Phil led a toss out, and then another with a wicked smirk, and a double turn that disoriented Darcy slightly, before tucking her against him again. “Your coat is really soft,” she said into his lapel. 

Phil rumbled agreeably, a hum that transferred through where their bodies connected. The song finished almost abruptly, and Darcy looked up at Phil. “Better?” she asked. 

The crows feet at the corners of his eyes, and the smile lines framing his mouth crinkled with a sincere smile. He nodded. “Quite acceptable, Miss Lewis.” He escorted her to the side of the floor and gave her another decisive nod. “Thank you for the dance.”

Another follow pulled him away, and Darcy didn’t try to keep him as a lifeline on the unfamiliar floor. She was asked to dance, and those two songs with Phil seemed to have broken the dam. She was no longer anathema on the floor, and danced with a good portion of the leads there that night. Taking a breather by the water cooler, she and Phil stood within each other’s orbit in the way people who are spending time together but don’t need to constantly converse, do. 

_Minor Swing_ came on. Fran tiptoed over with exaggerated stealth, and straightened, body vibrating, in time with the bass twang that kicked off the song. Phil grinned, a silent communication flowing between the him and Fran. They stepped in time, moving in tandem out onto the dance floor without touching with the next measure of introduction, before Phil moved in, melding their bodies together in a comearound before he even bothered to snake an arm around her upper back. And they were partnered.

It happened faster than Darcy could parse, two beings becoming one expression of movement. They chugged along with the rhythmic guitar strokes. They soared with with the violin melody. They returned together and made each other laugh by exchanging footwork variations, sensed only through their bodies. It wasn’t flashy, and it wasn’t fancy — not really — but it was so much a pure expression of Phil that Darcy couldn’t help grinning in reflected pleasure.

“You guys looked so good,” she told them as they walked off the floor.

Phil’s ears pinked and he ducked his head. Fran smiled a showman smile. “Thanks hon. We go to classes Thursdays if you’re free and wanting some instruction.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want—”

“You’d be more than welcome,” Phil interrupted, with a kind look.

It was Darcy’s turn to duck her head. “Yeah. Okay, maybe.”  
\--  
Phil and Darcy walked home together. It wasn’t that Phil was walking her home to make sure she was safe, they just happened to be leaving around the same time, and they were obviously going to the same location, so it made sense to go together.

“I’m taking the subway,” Darcy warned.

Phil nodded as though that was the most natural thing in the world. For him it was; she was probably responding to her usual interactions with Stark. “I was planning on that as well,” he replied.

“Okay.” 

They walked the quiet, darkened streets of Manhattan and ducked into the subway. “You’re really good,” Darcy said out of nowhere. “I don’t know if— I mean, you probably hear that from a lot of follows, but wow. You’re really good.”

Darcy was unsure under the yellow lighting of the subway platform but she thought Phil blushed. “It’s not something a lead gets tired of hearing,” he admitted. “You’re doing quite well yourself, especially without any classes.”

Darcy scuffed her walking shoe against the tiles of the platform. “Well it’s easier for follows to learn on the floor.”

“Even so. If you ever wanted to practice — work on some stuff — my front room is good for practice.” Phil made the offer sound casual, but Darcy knew better. Nobody but Natasha had seen the interior of Phil’s apartment. He was private to the extreme, and due to nearly dying, the team actually respected his privacy.

“Really?” Darcy tried to modulate her tone so it came out as less of a squeak. “Could you teach me that fake-out comearound thing with the elbow catch?” she asked after a moment. 

“Yes really. And I’d be happy to.”

Darcy took a step closer to him and looped her arm through his, pressing their sides together with a squeeze. “Thanks Phil. That’d be cool.”

Phil let out a breath and dropped his head to the side so his temple rested on the crown of her head as they waited for the train  
\--  
After that, the tension that had existed between them, palpable but not taut, vanished. Phil was working at SHIELD again, and Darcy was finishing up part of her Masters thesis , but they made time to go to class on Thursdays, and out dancing most Tuesdays and some Saturdays. The Saturdays they went out, both would dress up and meet in the foyer; Phil in a three piece suit and vintage tie, Darcy in one of her well-fitted dresses.

“That is a really lovely dress,” Phil commented one night while walking to a venue.

Darcy executed a twirl, never missing a step as they progressed down the street. The skirt swirled up just high enough to accentuate the turn without exposing her underwear. “Thanks. SHIELD got it for me.”

Phil raised a curious eyebrow. “Really,” he stated more than asked.

Darcy grinned. “I got a clothing allowance when I became an executive assistant to Doctor Foster,” she replied with a toothy red smile. Her makeup always skirted the line between tacky and over the top gorgeous.

“And you spent it on dresses to dance in?” Phil asked. He’d have to have a word with accounting if that was the case.

“No — I spent about half of it on dresses, a quarter on blazers to make the dresses look like business wear and a quarter of it on shoes ‘cause you don’t even know how much good women’s shoes cost.”

“Hmm,” Phil murmured, “That seems logical.”

Darcy nodded once, as though that closed the discussion. “I thought so.” She smoothed over her bosom and tugged the waist of the dress flat in a self-conscious gesture. “So when are you and Fran gonna... you know...” she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“Start competing?” Phil suggested, bewildered.

“No, go out together,” Darcy replied, frustrated.

Phil’s eyes widened in surprise. “We aren’t— We don’t do that.”

“Date?” Darcy prompted.

“Each other,” Phil agreed. “We’re just partners. It’d be weird otherwise.”

“Yeah, like how you cuddle up in each others arm for hours of unspoken communication a couple times a week? That kind of weird.”

The tips of Phil’s ears got red. “Well we do that too,” he pointed out.

Darcy looped her arm through his and pulled them close, dropping her head against his shoulder for a brief moment. “And we’re totally bros. Super platonic.”

“Exactly,” Phil agreed.  
\--  
“Phil!” Darcy yelped, throwing her arms above her head in excited welcome. “I made you a thing!”

“A thing?” he asked, intrigued and a bit concerned.

“Phil?” Tony asked, eyebrow raised in incredulous disbelief. “Since when is everyone on first-name basis with Agent Agent?”

Phil shrugged innocently, while Darcy scrambled to dig through her massive purse. Steve glanced at all of them with poorly concealed curiosity. Pepper was the only other person not to call Coulson, Coulson. Even Natasha and Clint who, by all accounts, had known him literally for years, called him Coulson.

“What could you possibly have made for the Agent?” Tony asked.

Darcy pulled a small blue something out of her purse and presented it to Phil like a prize. “It’s a lapel flower.”

Phil’s expression softened in a way Steve had never seen. “It is,” he agreed, accepting it from her hand like it was a delicate bird. It was a small blue ceramic flower with a spray of feathers backing it, and something on the back like a cufflink closure.

“I have a set for my hair that matches. I saw the tutorial to make these guys and was thinking about your naked little buttonhole.” Steve blinked before realizing she was talking about an actual physical button hole in his suit.

“I don’t have one today,” Phil said regretfully, looking at his lapel.

“No worries. We can match some night when we go out.” The conversation had apparently veered into the personal without either of them considering their audience.

Steve coughed uncomfortably. Tony interrupted the moment. “Don’t I get a present? I like flowers.” 

“You hate flowers,” Darcy replied with a condescending look.

“Yes, but with the little things—” Tony insisted, rotating his wrist indicating Steve knew not what. Tony blinked in put-on beguilement. “If it was from you...”

Darcy put her hand over Tony’s face and gave him a little push out of her personal space. He stumbled back in mocked imbalance.  
\--  
“Clint?” Steve asked, sounding a bit anxious.

“Hmm?” Clint asked, looking up from his growing breakfast sandwich stack. Another layer of bacon would just about do it.

“Do you know anything about... Agent Coulson and Miss Lewis?”

“What about them?” he asked, setting the last pancake on top and popping the cap of the syrup.

“Do you know anything about them...” Steve seemed to search for the right word. “Stepping out?”

Clint’s mind crashed, but quickly initiated a hard reboot. “Like, dating?” he asked. Steve nodded. Thor perked up, sensing Clint’s inattention towards his breakfast stack. “Uh...” Clint hedged, replaying every interaction he could remember seeing between Coulson and Lewis. Thor approached the precarious stack of pancakes, fried eggs, bacon, and sausage with what stealth he could muster. “Huh.” Clint said. Thor moved in, reaching for the plate. Clint moved lightning-quick, fork pinning the demigod’s hand to the countertop without landing hard enough to hurt or bend the tines of the fork. Thor made a pouting sort of whine. “You can make your own,” Clint told him sternly.

“So you don’t know anything about... that?” Steve asked.

“No, I mean. I hadn’t really considered it. But like...” Clint frowned and moved his breakfast to a safer location. Coulson and Lewis rarely had cause to interact in work life, but in the casual meetings in the Tower, and the common areas, Clint had noticed a certain... intimacy. They were easy, invading each other’s space, and were often seen entering or leaving the Tower together. Of all the people Clint had ever known to interact with his handler, Lewis was the most successful at regularly and easily coaxing out Coulson’s sweet, blindingly delighted smile. “Well fuck, go Coulson.” He shook his head with a rueful smile. Darcy was a hot piece of a woman and if Coulson - reserved, sometimes shy Coulson - had seduced her, his respect for his handler went up tenfold.

Steve looked uncomfortable. “So you think they are?”

“She got him a lapel pin so they would match when they go out — yes, they are totally fucking,” Tony informed them condescendingly from behind his massive bowl of a coffee mug. Steve winced at Tony’s crassness. “Oh, don’t look like I kicked your puppy - I totally screwed girls her age. It’s not like she’s jailbait.”

Steve winced again, harder. “Tony,” he almost whined, simultaneously censor and plea.

Clint winced, thinking about it. “It is one helluva age difference. He could legit be her father.”

“I didn’t want to bring it up, only... yeah. I’d hate to think Miss Lewis was being taken advantage of.”

Thor had effectively become distracted with making his own jenga pile of breakfast foods, but his head popped up at that statement. “The Lady Darcy is many things, some of which lack maturity, but she knows her mind and her desires. If she wishes to gift her maidenhood thusly, it is her choice and we should celebrate the Son of Coul’s virility.” Thor attempted to shove three fried eggs between two pancakes and got a yolk-covered thumb for his trouble. He sucked the golden ooze off with a smile. “Though if this is some Midgardian taboo of which I was unaware, I will aid you in assuring the security of the Lady’s honor. Jane Foster would not suffer I do differently for they are the closest of bosom companions.”

“Bosom doesn’t even begin to cover Lewis,” Clint said under his breath, earning him a bark of laughter from Tony and a stern look from Steve. “Look man, what would make you feel better about this, if there even is a ‘this’?”

Steve sighed and hitched a hip against the counter, arms crossed and head down in thought. “I don’t even know.” A little part of Steve was jumping up and down waving its arms saying nothing would make it better; he’d had a crush and he’d stood off to the side, yet again, while another suaver, more experienced, more desirable man swooped in and took off with a pretty girl he’d been sizing up.

Clint clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “If you figure it out, we’re there for you.”

“Verily!” Thor chimed in.

Steve nodded mostly to himself. “Thanks. Thank you.”  
\--  
Steve kept an especially close watch on Coulson and Darcy after that. Natasha gave him a confused, disappointed look whenever she caught him doing it, but he just couldn’t stop how his eyes followed both of them.

“Is everything alright, Captain?” Coulson asked one afternoon after some performance exams.

“Yes, why?” Steve asked, trying to pull his mind together. He had been giving Coulson the thousand yard stare he often chided Clint for; it scared the staff.

“You’ve been tense lately — on alert. I didn’t know if something in particular had you on edge.”

“No. Nothing in particular.”

Coulson frowned in concern. “Is it a gut feeling?”

“No. It’s nothing.” He tried to put on a good face. “Really. It isn’t anything to do with the team.”

Phil nodded. “I trust you. You know if there’s ever anything, team or not, you need to talk about my door is always open.”

 _Yeah, I’ve seen Darcy coming out of it late at night,_ Steve thought. It had just been the briefest flash of light out of Coulson’s door as he did his pre-bed patrol of the Avengers auxiliary personnel housing levels. Darcy was carrying strappy heels over one shoulder, not even bothering to put them on for the short walk back to her apartment. Her skirt swished just at knee-level, showing the line of her calf and the sweep of her ankle. A sheen of sweat still clung to her skin and the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Coulson had been flushed pink and his hair clung limp with sweat to his forehead.

“Oh, hey Steve,” Darcy had greeted him, pinking and swirling around so her skirt rose up just a bit, exposing the strong line of her thigh muscle.

“Miss Lewis.”

“Captain, Darcy, goodnight,” Coulson had said, with a special little crinkle of a smile for Darcy before closing his door.

“Can I walk you home?” Steve asked, at a loss as to what to do since Coulson had abandoned them together. It seemed like kind of a cad move, but Coulson must have had his reasons.

“Sure thing, Captain,” she replied, hips swinging with an easy grace Steve recognized from Bucky, after a visit to some of the more liberal ladies of Europe. She had moved like she’d just had every muscle in her body unwound and stretched to relaxation. They walked down the hall and Darcy took the stairs, bare feet skipping lightly down them, knotting the muscle in the back of her calf with each tantalising step. When they had gotten to her door she opened it and stood in the doorway, swinging her shoes awkwardly in one hand.

“This is me. We made it. Safe and sound.” Steve ducked his head to hide his smirk. “Thanks for walking me. We should do this again sometime.” A sheen of sweat had emphasized her collarbone and slicked down her decolletage.

“Uh...” Steve had said, eyes tracking down the sheen of sweat and abruptly breaking away.

“G’night, Cap.” She had closed the door before he got out his own goodnight.

“Captain?” Coulson asked, obviously for the second or third time. He had gotten lost in the memory for a long moment.

“Yes. I know. I’ll come to you if it’s anything I think you can help with.” Steve put on a good face and made a quick exit.  
\--  
“Are you still moping about Darcy?” Clint asked, plopping down on the couch next to Steve and stealing a handful of his popcorn.

“No,” Steve replied at the same time as Tony said, “Yes.” Steve shot Tony a look that clearly said, _traitor_.

“Look, what is your deal? I thought we decided they were doing the big nasty. What more is there? It’s not like you’re gonna go behind Suit’s back to... what did you call it? ‘Step out’ with his girl. Move on. I can set you up with someone. And by me I mean Pepper ‘cause she actually has good taste in women.”

“Steve here doesn’t need any of your cast offs, Stark,” Clint chided, patting Steve on a pectoral. “I’m sure Mr. America can bag his own honeys.”

Steve shook off Clint’s hand with an annoyed glare off like a horse shaking off flies. “I just worry about— he doesn’t seem to take very good care of her.”

“You’re seriously saying that _Coulson_ isn’t good enough for her?” Tony asked. “Even _I_ know that is a load of crap.”

“We could be super stalkery and follow them around and you could like, stare jealously at our handler and his girlfriend who you’re into while we decide whether he’s good enough for her or not.” Clint offered.

“When you put it like that it sounds sordid,” Tony said gleefully. “I’m in. JARVIS - are the lovebirds up to it tonight?”

“It is a Thursday, so Agent Coulson and Miss Lewis customarily leave in two hours, heading south west,” JARVIS informed them.

Steve looked like an equal mix of irresistibly intrigued and horrified. “We can’t.”

“Will it get you to stop pining?” Tony asked. Steve made a face that was indecipherable beyond being conflicted. “Then we can. J, keep us informed.”

Two hours later, Tony had gotten bored and moved back to his workshop to tinker and Clint was watching Arrow with rapt attention and critiquing the fictional archer’s form while Steve read. JARVIS interrupted them both, pulling a picture-in-picture of the hall security cameras. “Sirs, Miss Lewis and Agent Coulson are beginning their rendezvous.”

“Do or die, Cap; creepy stalker time or are you going to grow a pair?”

“No need to be crass, Barton.” Steve frowned at Clint, who made a talkey hand at Steve and rolled his eyes. “Can you get audio, JARVIS?”

JARVIS muted Clint’s show and increased the somewhat poor quality audio. “Oh my god Phil we talked about your Brillo Creme problem. Step back. Take a deep breath. Your hair is fine.” Darcy was yelling through the closed door, a purse even larger than her normal one slung over her shoulder.

A muffled reply came, and Darcy sighed, turning spinning around on her heel in an idle motion and facing the security camera perfectly so it could capture her soft, tolerant smile. She was dressed to the nines and made up perfectly. She wore a dress so dark blue it was almost black, and only showed its color when the light in the hallway caught it properly. Her hair was swept up with a flock of tiny blue flowers keeping it in place, and her lips were a vivid, juicy red. 

Another muffled statement came through the door, and Coulson stepped out. He was matching in a dark blue three piece suit, almost black. His cuff links glinted silver, and a blue flower matching those in Darcy’s hair was through his button hole. Darcy stamped her feet, “Oh my god I’m so excited.”

Coulson smirked and offered her his arm. “I’m a bit nervous myself,” he admitted, hand moving towards his hair. Darcy intercepted it with a light slap.

“Dapper Coulson is dapper,” Clint said, completely deadpan, staring at the video feed. “So we following or what?” He’d stood and gotten their coats while Steve was distracted by Darcy’s dress.

“Yeah.”

JARVIS kept them updated on Coulson and Darcy’s movements throughout the Tower so they simply went down a different bank of elevators and exited the building from the south, shopping through the bodega to the west of the exit Coulson and Darcy used. They followed at a discreet distance.

Coulson and Darcy walked with a relaxed sort of purpose, obviously heading towards somewhere familiar. They stayed within an arm’s width of each other except when they separated to maneuver through heavy traffic. They exchanged light conversation but nothing complex or important based on their frequent breaks and intermittent eye contact.

Clint and Steve tailed them for fifteen blocks or so until they ducked into a poorly lit, poorly marked building and disappeared.

“Did they go down or up?” Clint asked Steve, who held up a hand for silence.

The muffled thud of a fire door closing at the bottom of a long stairwell was his answer. “Down.”

“This is shady,” Clint said, even as he opened the door to the stairs.

A portion of Steve’s good sense and general bad idea sensor was jumping up and down agreeing with Clint. When _Clint_ was telling you something was a bad idea it was time to stop and reevaluate your life. In spite of that he held the door and went through it, stepping lightly so his footfalls didn’t boom in the empty stairwell. They came out into a semi-lit area that looked like the back of an unfinished stage. Light and music was coming from around the corner.

Steve and Clint approached slowly.

It was a dance studio. A herd of middle school aged children were performing in adorable tandem while parents watched. The boys all wore clip on bowties and the girls all had pretty headbands with oversized bows in their hair.

“That is freaking adorable,” Clint commented in an undertone.

Steve could only nod mutely. Darcy and Coulson had disappeared as effectively as anybody he’d ever tailed. The kids finished dancing and the parents clapped. A tiny woman in a bright flower print dress walked, clapping to the center of the ‘stage’.

“Now for Dancing Classrooms, we have the Midtown Strutters with a performance to ‘Black Coffee’.”

Three couples walked out on the floor in matching grey, brown, and Coulson and Darcy in blue-black. Their heads were down, obviously psyching themselves up or getting in the zone for performance. 

They partnered to light applause. As the bass beat began, they all struck different poses. The first phrase began in earnest and the first couple started moving, the others remaining still as statues. The phrase ended, and the first couple froze while the second took over. The pattern was repeated for Phil and Darcy who fairly floated across the floor, a bright smile on Darcy’s face, a look of concentration on Coulson’s.

The couples all began moving in a choreographed swirl after that and Steve’s eyes were lost for anybody but Darcy. The routine was an odd mix of sweet and sharp, soft swirls and hard drags, light movement and hard stamps of their heels. The routine ended in another set of poses, and everyone clapped. The couples bowed, and bowed again. Rising from their second bow, Darcy’s eye caught on Steve and Clint even as they tried to duck into a recess. Something in the shift of her body alerted Phil, whose expression went from crinkled grin to serious business in a shuttered moment. 

They left the stage with their cohort but surprisingly quickly appeared in front of Steve. Clint had disappeared, leaving him alone. Darcy was breathless but worried looking

“What’s the situation?” Phil asked, pulling out his phone and frowning at its lack of messages from either SHIELD or any other Avengers. “Where’s Barton?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, knowing he was blushing. Steve tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t come off as terribly stalkery. "I was worried you were taking advantage of Miss Lewis so Clint and I followed you across town and apparently that wasn’t what you two do together at all.”

Coulson’s expression went from concerned to hard in a flash. He exchanged a look with Darcy, who also appeared decidedly... uncharitable. “I’ll catch up with Barton. Are you okay here?”

Darcy shot an angry, mistrustful look at Steve and nodded, jaw setting in a hard line. Coulson ducked around them and slipped into the stairwell after Clint.

“I was worried about you,” Steve tried. Darcy’s eyebrow raised in a silent threat. “It’s not— I just hadn’t—”

Darcy raised a finger, silencing him in one motion. “I should taser your ass right here you skeezy fuck.” She grabbed his upper arm, small fingers digging in with what would have been a painful grip on a lesser man. She dragged him towards the stairs and a quieter, more secluded alcove. “We are gonna talk about this and it is _not_ a conversation children should overhear,” she promised with fire in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You were _following us_?” she hissed. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did they drain out the sense when they pumped you full of superjuice?”

“I just was—”

“Look, Rogers, I liked you. I was totally throwing it at you, in case you didn’t notice, but what the everloving fuck. This is not okay. This is serious breach of boundaries, sonny boy. This... I could have a restraining order on you right now pulling this shit.” Darcy wasn’t actually sure she could, but she felt it was important to impress upon _Captain America_ how not cool stalking was. “So explain to me exactly what the _hell_ was going through your mind.”

“Barton—”

“Stop right there.” The finger was back up in his face. “Barton makes bad ideas bigger and more bad, but he is not the fount from which all poor life choices flow. You instigated him.”

“I just...” Steve trailed off, cowed by Darcy’s obvious ire. “I had seen how you and Agent Coulson were... intimate... and I was worried he was taking advantage of you. It seemed like if you were... serious... you would have said something to the group.”

“So because I didn’t declare my sex life to everyone I know it must be an abusive coercive relationship and you and _Barton_ should follow me to make sure?”

“So you are—”

“It’s not any of your fucking business who’s dick is in me, Rogers, and if you ever presume again I’m gonna make sure your dick is never gonna make it in any pretty girl’s thing with _extreme prejudice_. But since you were so crass and demanded to know about my sex like like it was somehow your right, no, Phil and I are just bros. And dance partners. I mean, he’s foxy for the over-forty crowd, but I prefer my guys young and stupid, thank you very much.”

Steve dropped his head while Darcy stared at him, both of them silent for a moment. A song was playing for another performance or open dance time. “I don’t know what to say,” Steve said finally.

“How about start with ‘I’ll never do that again’ and move on to, ‘I can’t even express how sorry I am’.”

“Yes, that.” Darcy tapped her foot and twirled her finger in a ‘go on’ gesture. “My actions were completely out of line and I won’t do that again, to you or any other woman. And I’m sorry,” Steve repeated dutifully. Darcy gave him a mistrustful glare that quite simply broke his heart. “I really am sorry. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—”

“Well good luck there, buddy.”

“—and I did, so I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make things right between us...” Steve stepped back, making sure it was clear he was giving her her space.

The warrior on a warpath persona evaporated abruptly, and she was a sweaty, slightly rattled looking woman. “I want Phil,” she said in a small voice. “Apparently some guys have been following me and it’s kinda weirding me out.” Steve was certain if she’d had sleeves long enough she would be tucking her thumbs into them.

Steve ducked his head.

“I’ll see if I can find him. Would you like me to walk you home if I can’t?”

“No,” she said with a little too much force and he blanched back from her. “Eugene can take me if Phil had to go deal with his idiot.”

Steve nodded, hurt but accepting. “Okay. Have a good night, Miss Lewis.”  
\--  
Eugene asked what was wrong but Darcy just shrugged it off. “Phil got a call about work. He had to step out. I was just—” she shook her head silently.

“I saw you talking with that guy. Is everything okay?” Eugene asked.

“Yeah. Just an asshole who never learned manners.”

Phil reappeared just a few minutes later, hand over his knuckles to hide the fact that one was split. “I’m sorry about that,” Phil murmured in Darcy’s ear. “They were both really out of line. It looked like you gave Rogers a good talking to.”

“I hope it sticks,” Darcy replied. “Can you take me home? I don’t really want to stay if that’s ok.”

Phil flexed his hand and nodded. “I know the feeling.”

They walked home silently sticking closer together than normal. Phil’s hand kept wandering to his pants pocket where his asp baton was secreted and pulling away, until Darcy took a hold of his hand to simultaneously keep it still and reassure her. They got to the Tower and Darcy pressed the button for Phil’s floor. “Can I sleep on your couch tonight?” Phil’s eyebrows went up and his mouth opened without any sentence prepared. “I just... I know it’s silly but that kinda rattled me up.”

Phil walked them to his apartment, held the door for Darcy, and sat next to her on the couch. “You know this isn’t going to help the apparently rampant rumors about us sleeping together.” That got a chuckle out of Darcy. “Is this not the first time something like this has happened?” he asked gently. Darcy was headstrong, confident, demanding, and outspoken, if selectively. He hadn’t expected quite this strong a reaction from her.

“I had a problem with some guys back in college,” she admitted. “I mean, I got it taken care of, but I don’t carry a taser just ‘cause it seemed like fun.” Phil’s blood boiled for a brief moment thinking of anybody harassing Darcy. “And I know they’re like, good guys, but damn that was creepy. Who does that?”

“People with very poor understanding of personal boundaries. People who have now been educated about personal boundaries.” Phil flexed his hand and winced. He was out of practice in straight-up punching people. He prefered a palm strike or jamming his knuckle into a nerve cluster. “I should put ice on this. Why don’t you shower. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like, as long as you’d like, and I won’t think you’re silly at all.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Phil iced his hand, and slipped out while Darcy was in the shower, returning with some of the oversized, fuzzy pajamas she preferred. Phil showered efficiently while she prepared for bed, and was out of the bathroom in time to bid her goodnight. “You were great tonight. I was really impressed with your rotation in the lolly variation,” Phil told her.

“Thanks. You really got a solid rhythm on the Long Beach Breaks,” Darcy returned with a shadow of her usual smile. Phil ducked his head with his own grin, and quite suddenly had an armful of Darcy hugging around his middle. “Thanks. For standing up for us.” The feeling was simultaneously tantalisingly familiar from their time on the dance floor, and softer - more intimate. 

His arms went around her back and he rested his chin on the top of her head. “Any time, Miss Lewis.”  
\--  
Phil was up earlier than Darcy ever was, putzing around in his kitchen making breakfast and coffee. Darcy rolled out of the deep embrace of the couch and shuffled into the kitchen to watch him blearily operate the espresso machine.

“Smells good,” Darcy managed through her muzzy early morning haze.

“Would you like one?” Phil offered. Darcy nodded, head bobbling in eagerness.

Phil set up an extra double shot of espresso and added another glug of milk to the carafe for steaming. “I have to go into central HQ for work today, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. I had JARVIS set up security protocols for you so you won’t have to worry about getting locked out.”

“I should just go back to my place. It’s not like they’re gonna be hiding in my closet or something. It’s not like they’re even scary!” she said with a huff. Captain America was the symbol of everything american pie and righteous goodness. Clint was... Clint. He’d protected her and Jane in New Mexico after the Destroyer incident, and they’d gotten drunk together at a sleazy bar the night the program site shut down. If there was a terrible choice that he could make for all the right reasons, he would make it, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

“Maybe that’s what was so unsettling about all of this; that men you knew and trusted could make decisions that breached your trust so completely,” Phil told her seriously, handing her a homemade cappuccino and the sugar bowl. Phil flexed his hand with the split knuckle in an unconscious gesture. “I’m not saying you have to forgive them. But I will say that they’re both idiots, and probably didn’t think about how you would take it when you found out. They were thoughtless, not malicious.”

Darcy didn’t respond, instead choosing to bury her face in the coffee. Phil leaned against his counter with his own cappuccino, crossing his ankles in a relaxed posture. One of the nice things about Phil was that he comfortable with his silences. Whereas with other people, silence could feel pregnant and anticipatory as though waiting for the storm of words to be unleashed by one or the other of the present, Phil was a null-space of expectation. He existed, perfectly content to converse or not. An egg timer went off and Phil tended to his breakfast. He offered Darcy a soft-boiled egg which she refused, and an english muffin which she accepted.

“I just don’t get how they couldn’t get it,” she said at last.

Phil shrugged. “Barton is used to the spy vs. spy game, so being under surveillance is part of the his life. Rogers...” Phil sighed. “As well as he’s adapted to the times, he grew up seventy years ago. Romantic standards and what was considered acceptable was different. It probably didn’t occur to him how you would see it.”

Darcy looked miserable. “The worst part is before all this I totally woulda fallen all over myself for a date with Steve. Now the thought just makes my skin crawl.”

Phil put down his plate and closed the space between them, wrapping Darcy in a hug. “If you want me to plant one of his chin, just let me know where and when,” he told her.

Darcy shook with a suppressed chuckle. “I don’t want that. I just...” she sighed.

“I know,” Phil agreed, reassuring and quiet.

In the end, Phil left for the day and Darcy did end up holing up in Phil’s apartment. It felt a little less like being alone. Phil got back around seven looking worn out and hollow-eyed. He glanced at Darcy on his couch and didn’t comment, instead going to change from his work suit.

“Natasha is making dinner upstairs. I’m going to go up and get some before Thor raids everything.”

Darcy rolled her eyes towards Phil. She was still in her pyjamas, hair disheveled. “Fine,” Darcy drew out the word in a whine. “I’ll go face down the idiots.”

“My offer stands,” Phil replied with a ghost of a smile.

“Yeah, yeah. If anybody’s getting a knuckle sandwich it’s gonna be from me.” Darcy held up her fists with semi-decent form.

She combed her hair but remained in pyjamas to follow Phil to the common floor. Natasha was digging a huge potato chip into some kind of spinach dip while goulash simmered on the stove. She looked at them in greeting but remained silent, sensing a gathering storm. Steve was draining a huge pot of egg noodles. Darcy glared at him. Somehow he seemed to sense her glare, shoulders tightening as though preparing for a blow.

Steve turned, a hangdog expression already on his face. “Miss Lewis—”

“You shut it, mister. I’ll talk to you when I’m damned well ready.” Steve drew back as though she’d slapped him, but nodded and shut his mouth. Thor and Jane made up for the preternaturally quiet dinner table, and Bruce stopped in for a bowl of stew and a few minutes away from computer screens. Phil and Natasha sat to either side of Darcy. Steve kept his head down, plowing his way through two helpings of goulash and rising to do the dishes. A look passed between Darcy and Phil. Phil nodded towards the kitchen and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah.”

Darcy stood with her bowl and went into the kitchen, glower in place. Steve looked sidelong at her but simply shifted so she could put her dish on the sideboard without his body boxing her in.

“How could you not know how that would make me feel?” Darcy asked.

Steve tensed. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally without turning. Soap suds made their slow way down his forearms. “I was just thinking how... How you two seemed to have this secret life, and I wanted to know what was so special about Phil that you— that you kept it from all of us. I rationalized it by saying I was worried about you, but really I was just wondering what he had that I didn’t. It was jealousy, pure and simple.”

“You were jealous of _Phil_?” Darcy asked. “We’re just friends.”

“You seemed so comfortable together. And I’ve never felt comfortable like that with a.... lady,” he finished lamely.

“Okay, well, you realize that you probably shoulda just asked one of us what was going on, right?”

“My actions were completely uncalled for,” Steve agreed, turning finally.

Darcy was small, curled in on herself and tucked into a corner of the kitchen. Whereas she had been bright and proud and vibrant the night before, she was washed out and fragile looking. The fact that he had caused that jammed a pang of hurt into his heart.

“Women aren’t some kind of prize you can win by being strong and upstanding enough.”

Steve knew that, academically. Natasha had sent him articles on male privilege and leadership in mixed-gender environments. Some part of him still seemed to think exactly that, though. “I don’t think that of you. You’re one of the most vibrant, beautiful, intelligent, fearless ladies I’ve had the pleasure to be around. I should have talked to you or Phil instead of sneaking around with Clint. I promise I won’t do something like that again.”

Steve looked genuinely sorry. It seemed like maybe the lesson had sunk in. “If I see you slinking around our apartments or being creepy ever again I’m gonna tell Natasha everything,” Darcy warned him, “and she does not take well to dick moves from guys she lives with.”

“Understood. You won’t get any more trouble from me, I promise.” Steve’s hands were clasped behind his back, head slightly bowed.

Darcy’s expression was surly but she stuck out her hand. “Friends then.”

Steve looked up, a smile blooming and getting mushed down as he tried to suppress it. He took her hand gently and shook. “Friends, I hope.”  
\--  
“Barton wants to plead with you for his good looks,” Phil told her when she exited the kitchen. “I think he’s hiding in my office.”

Phil had an office in the executive level of the Tower, down the hall from Miss Potts. Darcy peered into Phil’s office. Clint was stretched out on his couch, feet resting on the armrest, head mashed into an ice pack. He sat up when he heard the creak of the door.

He had a little cut on his cheekbone surrounded by dark bruising, and a big scrape and bruise across his opposite temple that was newer. “Ow,” Darcy commented appreciatively. “Those weren’t both from last night.”

Clint pointed to the cut on his cheekbone, “Phil,” and then the scrape on his temple, “Natasha.”

“Aah.”

“Yeah.”

“So.”

“Sorry?” Clint offered. Darcy cocked her hip and put her fist on it. “I was an idiot and I’m sorry?” he tried again. “And I’ll never do it again.”

“Good start.”

“Girlie,” Clint sighed, the pet name feeling heavy between them. “I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do while I was doing it and I just couldn’t seem to put my foot down and say no. I’ll do better next time, listening to little angel Clint instead of little devil Clint. I promise.”

“That’s a lot of promise.”

“And I won’t let you down,” he said earnestly.

Darcy sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s like you’re a bad idea _magnet._ ”

“Hey, it’s taken decades of practice to get as bad at life as I am. It’s an art.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Blitzkrieg Baby (you can't bomb me) by Una Mae Carlisle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCOpP2xQY08)  
> [Stop the Sun, Stop the Moon by the Boswell Sisters  
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFbsXIyzP-s)[Minor Swing by Django Reinhardt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTlo809EIlo)  
> [Black Coffee by The Careless Lovers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqFgBxY4pOA) which includes an adorable jazz dance music video
> 
> As always, questions, comments, concerns, and concrit are always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed!


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